


admit defeat

by itainttreason



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: I love my dead gay sons, M/M, Requited Love, fun fact: protestants dont believe in the sacrament of confession
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-14
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-05-26 16:33:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6247453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itainttreason/pseuds/itainttreason
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>caleb brewster does not know how to keep his mouth shut. fortunately, ben has the solution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	admit defeat

Caleb had been sneaking glances at Ben ever since they had been warm blooded teenagers in the warm, wide fields of Setauket, but this was the first time Ben had caught him full on staring. _Fuck,_ was the last mangled thought to cross his mind before those blazing eyes burned the rest to ashes. Ben cocked his head to the side like a quizzical beagle, but Caleb knew he would figure it out soon enough. The curiosity would nag at poor Ben until his brain finally puzzled out the reason and Caleb would be done for. Not only would Caleb be done for, they would be done for. A suggestion occurred to him, proposing that he was being a mite dramatic, but those eyes were still on him and in that moment his world was fire and panic. Then Ben looked away to listen to a report from some skinny drummer boy and Caleb was freed. He reeled, teetering between making himself scarce and standing his ground. Turning tail would only convince a small part of Ben of his guilt, but standing his ground would probably lead to a stammering explanation. He turned tail, and cursed himself as a coward. He'd certainly see Ben before the night was over.

 

It was over a bowl of what none would call soup that Ben found Caleb. He plunked down beside Caleb, who was hunched guiltily over his food. As Caleb would recall later, every line of appearance made him out to be amiable when he queried, "So what was that earlier?"

"Might've just been admiring that ass of yours." Oh. Did he just say that? A Hamiltonian blunder. But it only merited a laugh from Ben.

"Some fine scouting there, Caleb, but I thought I had told you to get after the rears of the enemy. I don't have a turncoat on my hands, do I?"

Caleb was bewildered. He thanked who he believed to be utterly incompetent, God, that he had a thick beard to hide his reddening cheeks. He opted to laugh at Ben's jab instead of actually replying.

"Well?" Oh, damn you, Benjamin Tallmadge, you beautiful bastard. 

"No, no, 's God's my witness, I'm no turncoat." 

"Using the name of The Lord in vain? There's two sins against you, Caleb Brewster." 

"Two?"

"Yeah. We'd better get you to the chapel. I was on my way myself- you'd better come along."

"That an order? I'd rather finish my food-"

"That's an order, Mr. Brewster." They both stood, Caleb leaving his bowl on the log they had sat on with a wistful sigh. Even if it had barely counted as food, it was still warm. Leave it to a preacher's son to miss dinner for prayer. They walked through the darkening woods together towards the chapel.

"What was the first sin?" Those eyes slid to give him a derisive glance.

"I think you know."

"I certainly don't!" Caleb planted his boots in the crust of snow and refused to continue until his query was answered. 

"Come on, Caleb, don't be like that-"

"You impugn upon my honor, sir! I will meet you like a gentleman." The words were said through a barely contained grin, the code duello only suggested in jest. But when Ben turned, Caleb was met with a stony mask. 

"Pick your weapon, sir." Caleb shook his head but took this as an opportunity to teach Ben a lesson in comedy, since he was such a scholar. 

"Fists."

"Wrestling is hardly a proper form of combat for a du-" He was cut off as Caleb tackled his midriff, sending them both crashing into the snow. 

"Admit defeat." Caleb fully intended to let Ben go once he apologized for ruining his joke, but he quickly lost interest when, in his attempt to throw Caleb, Ben reared and knocked his head against Caleb's. "Fuck!" he howled, clutching his face, reeling in his seat on Ben's chest. "Fucking rude, Tallboy!" Ben took that opportunity to throw him off and to pin him on his belly instead, his nose reddening the snow beneath them. 

"Admit defeat." 

"Oh, fuck off!"

"Admit. Defeat."

"I said-," Caleb heaved mightily, threw him off and staggered to his feet, blood flowing freely from his nose, "fuck. Off." His gaze rose when Ben did, his pristine Continental uniform scuffed with dirt. He tensed when Ben drew near, but he only extended his hand to tilt Caleb's chin up to inspect his nose. "Broken." 

"Of course it's fucking broken, you hard-headed bas-" Ben's soft mouth muffled the end of the fiery insult. Blood and Ben mingled in a way that seemed viscerally right to Caleb, like some sort of pagan witchcraft. When they broke apart, Caleb was left silent, spellbound.

"Admit defeat." 

"Tallmadge, I swear to-" Another kiss silenced him. One more solicited the mumbled phrase that Ben sought- "I submit." Those bloodstained lips broke into a grin and Caleb knew he had just sold his soul to the angel of war, and hell if he was going to let him have all the fun.


End file.
